


No Haven in Dreams

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Lady Herald and Her Lion [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lyrium Withdrawal, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Lyrium, Red Lyrium Cullen, Red Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: The Commander of the Inquisition isn't the only one having nightmares. The Inquisitor is experiencing some of her own, which are beginning to threaten her physical safety.





	No Haven in Dreams

“Come on, Cullen! You’re too slow!”

 

Verana beckoned to him, gesturing for him to follow her and then vanishing around a corner with a brilliant smile and an intoxicating laugh that set his heart aflutter. He felt his lips pull into a mirrored grin as he jogged forward and rounded the corner after her…

 

…only to see the long and empty hall to the war room ahead of him, illuminated by golden shafts of sunlight streaming through the crumbling fissure in the wall. Had she slipped within already without him hearing the telltale creak and moan of the giant door?

 

He found his footsteps agonizingly slow as he proceeded down the hallway towards the council room, as if his ankles were weighted with lead; he glanced this way and that into the impenetrable shadows, wondering if she had playfully hid from him there instead, but only void-like darkness answered his searching eyes.

 

“Verana?”

 

The muffled laugh told him she was indeed in the war room.

 

Slowly, carefully, he pushed one door open and peered inside.

 

There, perched on the empty table, was the Inquisitor, her legs crossed elegantly, her hands propping her up as she leaned slightly backwards and regarded him with a glittering gaze and dazzling grin of mischief. She was wearing those leathers he thought looked so good on her, the skin-tight black breeches accentuating her shapely long legs – well-toned from all the walking, running, and riding she did. The sunlight streaming through the high windows glittered off of her silver mail and set her violet eyes alight with a mysterious, even magical, fire. Her merry gaze pulled at him, beckoning him closer, and he could do naught but obey, held fully in her thrall…

 

Unable to resist, his fingers brushed upwards along her thighs as he closed the gap between them, feeling warmth despite his gloves. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her, pressing her lips to his in a passionate kiss as his hands traveled upwards to twine in her glossy raven hair, the silken waves giving off the fragrance of roses and lavender as he disturbed the shining locks…

 

“You’re mine,” she murmured against his mouth, her voice eliciting a shiver from him, “all mine…at last…”

Her fingers then raked down across his breastplate, and pain suddenly ripped through him as if he had been stabbed with a dozen knives. He looked down to see his armor tearing away from him in long silver shreds with her...no, not fingers…

 

… _talons_.

 

He was paralyzed, rooted to the floor. Blood soaked her hands as the pain intensified; his mouth fell open in uncontrollable horror and agony…all the while Verana’s plum-red lips spread into a satisfied smile, revealing sharp fangs and pointed teeth. His voice was choked in his throat, his dry tongue unable to form words, helpless even as her hands eagerly plunged into his chest, gripping his heart fast, making his breath seize, his eyes wide in terror and disbelief…

 

“ _Mine_ ….”

 

She stood and steadily tightened her hold on his frantically pounding heart, simultaneously latching onto his lips with her own again and shredding them with her fangs. He could feel a scream bubbling in his blood, but it went unreleased, his agony completely silent even as he could feel the muscles in his throat tightening in a soundless roar. He could not close his eyes, despite how much he tried, and he watched with fury and shock as the fair flesh of Verana’s face melted away into the twisted, sadistic countenance of a Desire demon, the walls around them no longer that of the war room, but that of Kinloch Hold…

 

_No…no, no, no…_

 

“You cannot escape me, little Templar,” the demon cooed, ripping his heart out with one bloodied hand as she stroked his cheek lovingly with the other, “Never…”

 

“ _NO!_ ”

 

Cullen sat straight up, eyes seeing only darkness and that still-grinning Desire demon floating in the midst of the void for a brief second before it vanished like dissipating smoke before him. A draft of cool air chilled his dampened skin as his sheets fell away, soaked with a cold sweat. His breath came out in ragged pants, his heart pounding against his ribcage as if something had indeed tried to rip it out of him. He ran his hands through his hair and fell back against his pillow, struggling to calm his breathing and hoping no one heard his cry in the still night. What he wouldn’t give to have Verana, the _real_ Verana, at his side, telling him it was all right, telling him it was just a dream. She would, he knew she would – that gentle, encouraging soul who had truly captured his heart…

 

But she was days away from Skyhold, now. She was somewhere in the Emerald Graves, he knew, routing a group of Red Templars that Harding and her men had flushed out of hiding and harried through the Dales. He remembered the solemn look on Verana’s face as she left Skyhold with Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric in tow. She hated dealing with the Red Templars – getting anywhere near them – and if the reports he’d seen weren’t exaggerating, he couldn’t blame her.

 

He frowned as he stared up at the cracked ceiling of his chambers, feeling pathetic. She was out there dealing with living, breathing nightmares while he was still buried up to his neck in the ghosts of his past.

 

For the longest time, he was afraid to close his eyes for fear of slipping right back into the nightmare, continuing it…or worse, repeating it. Maker’s breath, why did he keep seeing her like that? Was he _that_ afraid of mages, still? Did he truly see her as something so dangerous? Treacherous? Did he see falling for her as succumbing to demonic temptation? Was his desire for her so terrible that it could only originate from a demon’s influence?

 

Or was it that he was afraid a demon might take her away from him, and that he would be powerless to stop it now that he had abandoned the lyrium?

 

With a sigh, he threw back the covers and stood, quickly dressing himself and climbing down the ladder to his office. Purpose in his steps, he left the tower and kept his eyes on the stone walkway before him, ignoring the curious glances of the night watch as he went. The wind fluttered the banners on the parapets, their flapping and his heavy booted steps the only sounds in the clear night. The frigid air calmed him as it filled his lungs, and it lifted the fog from his mind with its sharp chill.

 

He didn’t stop until he reached Skyhold’s recently renovated Chantry garden, where Andraste’s statue stood in a private room off the cloister. There, he knelt before the statue and lit the stub of a candle, offering yet another of many, many prayers he had made for Verana’s safe return to his side and seeking solace in the repetition of the holy words.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Verana woke in the night shivering, and it was not because of the colder-than-usual temperatures in the Emerald Graves. Her skin was damp with a cold sweat, making her armor doubly uncomfortable, and she found her limbs were trembling from the visions that plagued her dreams. Frustrated and unwilling to try to go back to sleep, she pushed off from her bedroll and ducked out of her tent, surprising the requisitions officer, who kept watch by the crackling orange fire. The officer jumped to her feet upon seeing the Herald awake, but Verana shook her head and gestured to the tents with a whisper, “Go get some rest…I’ll take watch.”

 

“But, Inqui-”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Verana insisted, “I can’t sleep anyway.”

 

“As you wish, Inquisitor.”

 

Verana nodded as the officer quickly did as bade, and she had no doubt it was just as much from eagerness for a nap as it was following orders. Once the officer was out of sight, Verana made her way across the camp and sat on a log before the fire; there, she stared deeply into the flames and tried to shake the shivers of tension and anxiety from her sore body. They’d been battling the Red Templars for days, attempting to drive them from the Graves permanently, but they were more deeply entrenched than the Inquisition had first thought, and they put up a magnificent fight, even knocking Dorian out cold at one point during their most recent skirmish.

 

Then, there were the leftover remnants of the Freemen of the Dales…

 

She rubbed her thigh, gloved fingers tracing over the small hole in her leather breeches, and winced. The flesh was still sore from that Freeman’s arrow. She’d managed to down a potion and heal the wound before it scarred, but it still left a nasty bruise, and it was incredibly touchy. Even riding her horse was uncomfortable.

 

Sighing, she was glad that they were heading back to Skyhold, now. Between the nightmares and her recovering leg, she was having trouble resting, and that was dangerous for all of them. She sincerely hoped that it was not her fatigue that had resulted in Dorian’s fall during that last battle; she always tried to keep everyone in her sight and protected, but that was not an easy thing to do...and it was even harder without a good night’s sleep.

 

Closing her eyes, she put her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. They were everywhere…everywhere, Red Templars. She could not escape them, even in her dreams. There they haunted her, crystal-ridden corpses littering the ground, staring up at her with blank ruby eyes. The monstrous behemoths did not bother her as much as the ones in the first stages of transformation did – the ones who still possessed distinct features, human faces. In reality, those faces were never ones she recognized. But in her dreams…

 

…in her dreams, all she saw was Donovan.

 

She had not seen Donovan in many years – her elder Templar brother. Every time they encountered the Red Templars, she prayed her brother was not amongst their number. It was this fear of his being dragged into that evil red lyrium that made a knot twist in her stomach anytime the warped knights crossed their path. Verana knew that Donovan would never voluntarily subject himself to it, but what if it was forced on him? She knew from the documents the Inquisition had recovered from various camps that not all of the Red Templars had become what they were of their own free will, and it made her physically ill to think of what they felt…what they _knew_ was growing within them and would eventually consume them entirely, feasting on their flesh and blood like an indestructible parasite…

 

To imagine his face, his slyly grinning countenance with his sparkling hazel eyes, overtaken with the roots of red lyrium, his gaze turned crimson…it made her want to vomit.

 

Turning her face skyward, Verana gazed into the field of purple-black that was pocked with silvery, sparkling stars, framed by the shadowy foliage of the ancient trees looming around them like silent sentinels. Sighing again, she remembered the last words he had spoken to her, when he had departed the Ostwick Circle to return to his post at Markham…

 

“ _You’ll always be my wee little sis, Verana…and I’ll always be thinking about you, and praying for the Maker to watch over you.”_

 

Silent tears tracked down her cheeks as she whispered, “Now I’m praying for you, Donovan. I’m praying for you every day, brother. And I can only hope the Maker is listening.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cullen watched from his windows as the party returned, riding across the bridge and through Skyhold’s gates. As he rubbed his temples, trying to repel a growing headache that throbbed ominously in his skull, he noted that the group was not exactly in the best of spirits, Verana in particular. Concern filled him and soon became irresistible; setting the report in his hands aside for later, he emerged on the battlements to observe their arrival from a better position.

 

Dennet’s grooms took the companions’ horses once they dismounted, and the party stood for a moment in the courtyard, talking, before Verana finally strode towards the keep stairs. He could tell from her posture that something was wrong. Her head did not lift to meet anyone’s eyes, and she favored one leg ever so slightly. Though she held her back straight, the slowness of her steps spoke of weariness, and he could almost see an oppressive cloud settling around her shoulders like a heavy shawl.

 

Descending the wall stairs, he approached Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra, catching snippets of their continued conversation as he neared.

 

“…not good.”

 

“No, it isn’t. I wish she would talk to me.”

 

“You’re not going to try that interrogation shit on her, are you, Seeker?”

 

“Oh, shut up, Varric.”

 

Cassandra was about to say something else when she spotted Cullen walking towards them. With that half-smile of hers, the Seeker gave him a small nod of acknowledgment, “Commander.”

 

“Welcome back,” he began, hands behind his back as he tried to read their faces, starting the conversation as casually as possible, “I trust the operation went well?”

 

Dorian smirked, “In other words, ‘I’m worried about the Inquisitor, how is she?’”

 

“I-that’s not all I was going to ask about-”

 

“Ha!” Varric laughed, clapping his hands together sharply, “Notice he didn’t deny it.”

 

“ _Varric!_ ” Cassandra hissed her disapproval before returning her gaze to Cullen, “Not as well as we would have hoped. The Red Templars dug in and were difficult to rout. Some are still there, we’re sure of it, but the Inquisitor started losing strength.”

 

“She got hit by one of those Freemen archers,” Varric added, serious now, his expression grim, “Took one right in the leg. It’s healed up fine, but it went straight through, so it’s been bothering her ever since.”

 

“That,” Dorian crossed his arms, “and she’s been staying up almost all night for the past few days.”

 

Glancing around at the crowded courtyard, Cassandra gestured in the direction of the Herald’s Rest, “Come on…we can talk about it more over drinks. No use in standing out here.”

 

Cullen followed them to the tavern, lost in thought all the while. He did not like what he heard; their words only compounded his concern for the Inquisitor, rather than alleviating it. As they proceeded into the tavern, the Commander sat with the companions at a table in the corner, situating himself between the wall and Cassandra. Once everyone’s drinks were obtained, he stared into his tankard for a while before asking, “So, you say she’s been staying up? Why?”

 

Cassandra sighed, crossing one leg over the other, “I know she’s been having nightmares, and she’s trying to avoid them by staying awake. I heard her say a name in her sleep one night – ‘Donovan.’”

 

“Donovan?” Cullen’s brow furrowed, and he met Cassandra’s inquisitive gaze, “That’s her brother’s name…the one in the Templars.”

 

“Hmm,” Dorian mused, swirling a glass of wine in one hand as he leaned back in his chair, “You think she’s having nightmares about him, then?”

 

Cullen’s eyes were distant, “She mentioned one time fearing he’d become part of the Red Templars.”

 

“And the nightmares come whenever we fight them,” Varric noted, shaking his head and turning up his ale before adding, “Shit.”

 

Cassandra sighed again, “As I said before, I wish she would talk to me. I don’t want to ask her about it and have her think I’m prying. But she won’t bring it up to me herself.”

 

Dorian raised a brow at Cullen, his lips curled into a sly smile, “You, however, seem to be able to… _persuade_ …information out of her.”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened, “What? I-”

 

“Oh don’t try to act like nothing’s happening between you two, Curly,” Varric grinned knowingly, ignoring Cassandra’s dagger-like glare, “Half the Inquisition already knows and the other half suspects.”

 

The Commander’s eyes lowered to his untouched drink, and he felt his cheeks burning, “But…I thought…”

 

“Curly, you of all people should know from all that shit that went down with Meredith: the more you try to pretend everything’s normal, the more people suspect something’s up,” Varric chuckled, taking another deep swig of his ale, “Might as well stop hiding it and also stop the wild and rampant rumors while you’re at it.”

 

Cullen’s brows rose, “ _Wild_ …and _rampant_?”

 

“Oh, _Maker_ ,” Cassandra rolled her eyes, draining the last of her mead and looking away.

 

The dwarf chuckled, “Ohh, curious now, are we? Oh yes…I’ve got half a dozen requests already for an ‘inspired spinoff’ series based on what people have been passing around about you two. You wouldn’t believe how crazy some of them are.”

 

Cullen turned up his tankard and swallowed a giant gulp of ale, his cheeks flushing. “I…I don’t think I want to know…” he stammered out as he set the mug back down a little too hard.

 

Varric then gave Cassandra a mischievous wink, “I’m sure the Seeker does, though.”

 

“That’s it,” Cassandra stood abruptly, tossing a coin on the table for her drink, “I’m leaving.”

 

Dorian elbowed Varric with a wink and pointed after her as she left the tavern in a storm of glimmering armor, “Notice she didn’t deny it.”

 

The two roared with laughter for a moment before the dwarf looked pointedly at Cullen, “Seriously, though, Curly. Go talk to the Inquisitor sometime. Maybe not today…she probably wants to be left alone today. But certainly before she decides to run off to the most Maker-forsaken ends of Thedas like she has a habit of doing. I think she needs a good talk with someone who cares about her, and maybe you can put her mind at ease…and ours, too, while you’re at it.”

 

Letting out a slow breath, Cullen took a more moderate drink of his ale and set the tankard back on the table a little gentler this time, curling both hands around it and looking thoughtful for a long while. At last, he nodded, even as he felt a sharp pang dart through his head, “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Red. Everywhere red…red sky above, red cracked ground below. Colossal crystals thrusted skyward like pulsating crimson fingers, giving off unbearable heat. Energy crawled across her skin, sweat trickling down her brow, plastering her shirt to her chest. Nothing but arid dirt, pocked with glassy garnet shards, crunched beneath her boot heels, parched earth sucked dry just like her throat. There was a heaviness to the air that pressed around her and made it difficult to breathe, constricting her chest…

 

Eyes…scarlet eyes…watching, no _staring_ at her. The ground shifted before her, and its tremors and swells revealed mountains of armored corpses, steel and silverite charred and crumbling, hundreds of red crystals sparkling and pulsing with life amidst the detritus, _feeding_ off of it…

 

Her hands felt wet; glancing down, she saw them dripping with blood. A river of it sprang from the mountain of metal and twisted lumps of crystal beneath her feet, rising…ever rising…now at her ankles…now at her knees…

Her mouth opened, a scream of horror erupting in her throat, but no sound came out. Suddenly, indescribable pain stabbed her in the ribs and arms as around her wrapped a sizzling chain of iron, itself blood-soaked and studded with miniscule red crystals, jagged as shark teeth. She was then violently yanked forward, an armored figure on a rise ahead of her wrenching her towards him by the chain in his hands. With each ferocious tug, the chain both tightened and dragged her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She dug in her heels in an attempt to resist, but she slid easily along the worn, blood-soaked metal.

 

The monstrous figure ahead, a still mostly-human Red Templar, kept jerking her towards him, the chain wrapping now around her shoulders and neck like a twisted metal snake. Her eyes were wide in terror, and yet they seemed magnetically drawn to every detail of the warrior before her…the warped armor, the branch-like red lyrium stalks sprouting from his shoulders and back, punching through plate, spreading across the surface of the silverite like throbbing rivulets of blood. Then she saw the winged helm, fused to the knight’s skull with the spray of crystals that twisted through the crown...

 

And the crimson-limned, honey-gold eyes that fixed on hers through the shadows of the helm were Cullen’s.

Verana writhed in terror and agony, refusing to believe what she saw, but each movement only tightened the chain, which now began to choke her. Her heart fluttered frantically, as if trying to beat itself right out of her chest, and yet it also felt crushed, pulverized by what she saw…her eyes were drawn to his lips, where the telltale scar confirmed his identity; silent tears burned as they ran down her cheeks. And then he spoke, the ragged, metallic echo of his voice piercing her to the core and draining the life from her…

 

“This is your fault, mage. All of this is because of you…all of it…and now you are mine…”

 

His helm glimmered with a mirror-sheen, and she saw her reflection warped in its surface; saw the chains twined around her, flaming…searing her flesh…

 

But her form was all but naked and a muted mauve, covered in lizard-like scales, horns spiraling from her head, her eyes aglow with violet fire…

 

…a Desire demon.

 

Her mouth opened again in a horrified scream, and Cullen’s blade came arcing out of nowhere, stabbing her heart through to the hilt…

 

The bloodcurdling shriek, which faded into a pitiful wail, bounced off the walls of her chambers and startled her awake, launching her to sit straight up in bed. Her white cotton nightclothes – a loose long-sleeved shirt and pants –  were soaked with sweat, her sheets and coverlet damp with it as well, her face wet and her eyes blurred with tears. Her breath came in pained gasps, shaking and uncontrollable sobs causing her whole body to tremble. She clutched at the red velvet coverlet with a desperate grasp, her knuckles white, her heart still pounding fiercely against her sternum.

 

“Oh, Maker…” she drew her knees up to her chest, “Andraste…please make it stop…make it stop…”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen all stood around the war table, discussing options concerning troop movements and scout dispatches. All four were working well into the evening hours, and there seemed to be no sign of stopping anytime soon. Cullen fought waves of fatigue as he attempted to listen to what Leliana was saying, but almost all of her words dissolved into a monotonous hum, made worse by the subtle throbbing that pulsed in his temples.

 

That was when a scream and wail caused them all to turn their heads simultaneously towards the ceiling and raised the hairs on the backs of their necks.

 

“ _The Inquisitor!_ ” they all exclaimed as one.

 

Cassandra and Cullen were the first out of the room, swords clutched tightly in their grips as they dashed through the side halls of Skyhold and mounted the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters, joined by two of the guards on duty. Leliana and Josephine followed suit, the former gripping the dagger at her belt. Cullen took the stairs three at a time, bounding upwards and ahead of the rest with icy dread gripping his heart.

 

_Please, Maker, let her be all right…_

 

Verana heard them coming long before they reached her door, the sound of their clattering approach causing her to take deep calming breaths in an attempt to stem the flow of tears and ease her shaking. Keeping her head down on her raised knees, she simply concentrated on not making any more noise and hoped that when they did finally arrive, she would appear more stoic than she felt. She couldn’t let them see her with a tear-soaked face, trembling like a leaf…

 

Cullen was the first to burst through the door to her room with a cry, “Inquisitor!” Dashing up the last set of stairs, he leapt around the banister, eyes searching the shadows where the moon’s bright light did not reach…

 

Though the sight of her sitting on her canopied bed, holding her knees, made his heart twist in his chest, it allowed him some measure of relief. As the others scrambled up behind him, he held up a hand to indicate that weapons were not needed. The guards took this as a sign to retreat and turned back to return to the main hall, leaving the situation for the advisors to handle. Cassandra and Cullen both sheathed their swords, the sound of which did not even stir Verana from her position on the bed; it was as if she was oblivious to their presence…or didn’t care.

 

The Seeker moved forward slowly, her voice taking on an unusual softness as she addressed Verana, “Inquisitor?”

The others followed, shadowing Cassandra carefully. They did not know if Verana would be receptive to company so quickly, or if she would lash out at them for intruding on her privacy. Tentatively approaching the bed, the Seeker sat on the edge of it and gently touched Verana’s hand, “Inquisitor?”

 

Verana looked up slowly, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying, though her reddened eyes gave her away. She glanced first from Cassandra’s concerned countenance to that of the others, all of them offering her reassuring smiles in return. The Seeker continued, “Are you all right, Verana? You gave us quite a scare.”

 

The Inquisitor released a shuddering sigh, realizing at last that it was useless to try and keep it from them, and hung her head, “I am so sorry…If I could have kept quiet, I would have…I don’t know what…I should have-”

 

“No, no!” Cullen strode forward quickly, sitting opposite Cassandra on the bed’s edge, slightly behind Verana. Placing a comforting hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder, he added, “Don’t apologize. You couldn’t help it….we understand.”

 

From her position near the window, Josephine gave an emphatic nod of agreement, the candle of her writing tablet illuminating the diplomat’s face in a warm golden glow.

 

“These nightmares,” Leliana whispered, “They must be terrible for you…if there was any way we could stop them, you must know that we would pursue it.”

 

“We are here for you, Inquisitor,” Josephine finally said, offering a warm smile, “Never forget that.”

 

Their words did much to lighten her heart, and she was incredibly grateful for their support. They were each like mighty pillars holding her up, giving her the strength to lead and guide the people in such troubled times. She found herself smiling at each of them, still slightly embarrassed that she had worried them so but thankful that they had all come as quickly as they had.

 

“Thank you – _all_ of you – so much,” Verana finally replied, her smile turning sheepish, “I feel I should say that it means the world to have you all here with me. I…consider you all my closest friends.”

 

At that, Josephine could not stop herself from rushing forward with an “Oh, _Inquisitor!_ ” The next thing Verana knew, the Antivan diplomat had set her tablet aside and wrapped Verana up in a motherly embrace, sitting beside her on the bed and nearly squeezing her in two. The Inquisitor then heard Leliana chuckle, “Now, wait a minute, Josie, you can’t have her all to yourself.” Within moments, the spymaster had made her way to the other side of the bed, plopped on it, and hugged Verana from the opposite direction. At that, Cassandra snorted, “I refuse to be left out of this,” and leaned in to wrap her arms around all three. After a minute, the Seeker prompted, “Come on, Commander, you too.”

 

Verana heard him heave a sigh of fake aggravation, “Oh, all right, if I _must_.” Then, with a chuckle, he reached forward from behind her and held all of them tightly together, resting his head gently against Verana’s and damning what anyone thought about it. The Inquisitor was effectively pinned in place by her advisors, unable to extricate herself from their grasp…not that she wanted to. For a wonderful few moments, they weren’t the leaders of the Inquisition – some of the most powerful people in Thedas; no, they were friends, who had come together to show support and love for one of their own.

 

At last, Verana laughed, “All right, you…shoo. I’m effectively, warmed, fuzzed, and otherwise cheered up. I don’t want to keep you from what you were doing before – something far more important, no doubt.”

 

Without need for further motivation, they all simultaneously pulled away to do as she asked, heading towards the stairs with relief in their hearts; she was all right, and she hadn’t scolded them for barging in on her. Cassandra looked back once, gave an affirmative nod to the Inquisitor, and then brought up the rear of the group as they left Verana’s chambers. Once outside the room door, however, Leliana let Cassandra squeeze past and whispered, “Commander, wait.”

 

Cullen stopped on the stairs and looked back up at her, “What is it?”

 

Leliana let the others disappear down the stairwell before murmuring, “I think you should stay with her…see if you can find out of what exactly she’s having nightmares. We need to know if these are simply fears of hers or actually constructions projected by Corypheus in order to wear her down. If he can imitate the Calling, what else can he do?”

 

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with one gloved hand, “I…if you think I should, I suppose I can try.” He paused, thinking for a moment before adding, “I agree with your concern, though. It would certainly be a way to threaten the entire Inquisition. Depriving her of rest puts her in danger any time she ventures out.”

 

Leliana nodded, “Precisely. What does it matter if it is one of his minions that does it, or if it is an accident caused by weariness, so long as the Herald dies?”

 

Cullen’s face was grim, “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

The spymaster smiled slyly, “Just don’t treat it like an interrogation. It won’t hurt if you…enjoy yourself, you know.” She chuckled as she passed by him, not stopping to see his cheeks flush a magnificent shade of pink, his protestation halted in his throat as he realized it was useless to say anything in reply.

 

Sighing, he stood there a moment or two, letting the Nightingale vanish below before turning back towards Verana’s room door and knocking, “Inquisitor? Might I have a word?”

 

Verana, who had just lowered herself back down and pulled the coverlet to her chin, heard Cullen’s muffled voice and frowned, wondering what made him come back so quickly. “Of course, come in,” she called. He entered and ascended the stair once more, stopping once he reached the top, “I…wondered if we could speak for a bit.”

 

She rolled onto her side, facing him with a grin, “We can speak anytime, Cullen. What is it?”

 

He cleared his throat and moved to sit on the divan beside the banister, removing his sword belt for comfort’s sake and laying the weapon beside him, “I wanted to talk about these nightmares of yours, actually. I hear they’ve been plaguing you for a while, now. It-”

 

Verana sighed loudly in frustration, sliding both hands beneath her pillow, under her cheek, “Varric’s been yammering again, hasn’t he?”

 

Cullen frowned, leaning back and crossing one booted ankle atop his knee, “It’s more than just him, Verana. Several of your traveling companions are concerned now that you are foregoing sleep, Cassandra included.”

 

She closed her eyes, “It will be fine. This most recent nightmare was the worst I’ve had thus far…I’m hoping that now it’s past, I can-”

 

Her voice halted in her throat, however, once she saw him shaking his head knowingly. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together, “Verana, Kinloch is almost eleven years behind me, now, and I still have nightmares that are almost as strong as the ones I had in the days following. I…I had one such dream just the other night.” This sudden admission surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her, as he had not originally intended to tell her about it for fear of worrying her more.

 

“You did?” she raised up, propping herself on one hand, her expression one of sincere concern, “Do you…do you need to talk about it? I mean,” she looked away for a moment, “I know you wanted to hear about mine, but that doesn’t mean we can’t address yours, too.”

 

He sighed; it was hardly fair for him to want her to divulge her experiences if he wouldn’t share his own. Yet how could he tell her that _she_ had made them worse? That _she_ had caused his suppressed memories to resurface and was now painfully interwoven with the worst time of his life? How could he say that his mind’s eye saw her as a demon? It was too cruel, and yet…

 

“I…you’re not going to like it,” he warned, swallowing hard, “It has you in it.”

 

Her dark brows rose, “It…does?”

 

He glanced down, closing his eyes, “Yes.  Most of them have, ever since we…I-I mean …” he trailed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, “They’re not all bad, but…they turn that way.” He gave her a sheepish smile, “It always starts with something pleasant, and then…” Stopping, he stood abruptly and strode to a window, staring into the black of the night sky as he was unable to meet her gaze. Verana was silent, letting him find the words, but inside, so many questions wanted to come bursting forth; why did his dreams about her always turn into nightmares? Was it her fault that this had started happening to him?

 

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, his voice wavering with emotion, “Damnit, Verana…I can’t…I can’t say this…”

 

“Cullen,” she said softly, “It’s all right. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help.”

 

Hanging his head, he leaned with one forearm against the casement and replied, “In my nightmares, you always turn into a Desire demon. And as I hold you in my arms, you tear me to pieces.”

 

Her heart flipped in her chest. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to say it. Even if it was only the way the nightmare made her appear to him, the implications still stung a bit. Worse still, it had been how she had seen herself in her own nightmare…

 

As he continued to stare outside, the moonlight limning his form in a ghostly silver glow, Verana replied slowly, “So…do you feel I am…pulling you down into sin? Destroying you by making you give in to temptation?”

 

“ _No!_ ” he exclaimed without hesitation, pushing off from the window and pacing towards the divan, “No, I-I…” he stuttered as he shook his head and paced back, “Verana, I _don’t_ see you like that at all. I don’t. I don’t _want_ to see you like that. I don’t know why it keeps haunting me, but it _does_ , and I can’t _stop_ it!” his teeth clenched in frustration, “Andraste preserve me, if something like that really were to take you, I can’t…Maker, I wish…”

 

Passion choked his voice as he halted in his tracks and met her gaze with helplessness in his own. He wiped his hand down his face and glanced away, and Verana could tell his eyes were shining with moisture. The way this tore him up inside made her own heart twist in agony, and she could feel a lump gathering in her throat as she tried to think of what to say.

 

“Cullen,” she finally spoke, her voice a little unsteady, “Does it help to say you’re not alone in that…perception?”

He froze, his moonlit amber eyes widening as he lifted them to meet her blue-violet ones, “What?”

 

She gave a nervous laugh, “You wanted to know about my nightmares first. That’s part of it.” She smiled wryly, fingers running over the coverlet absentmindedly, “It’s always the Red Templars. Red lyrium everywhere, bodies everywhere. All the nightmares before this one usually ended with me finding my brother amongst them. But this one, tonight…” she took in a tremulous breath, released it, and continued, “This one ended with you.”

 

“It…did?” the words were hushed, tentative.

 

Her lips pressed together before she added rather matter-of-factly, “Well…more precisely, it ended with my death at your hands.”

 

A look of sheer revulsion crossed his face, “Maker’s breath, no! I-”

 

Verana held up a hand, “Hear me out. You were there, amongst the Red Templars, one of them. There was red lyrium,” she shuddered, “all over you. The next thing I knew, you lashed out with a chain, dragged me to you, choking me. You seemed to blame me for making you that way…or perhaps even causing the red lyrium to begin with.” His expression was a mixture of nausea and incredulity, but she continued, “Then I saw myself reflected in your armor, and…I was a Desire demon. And at that moment, you…” she paused, letting out her breath slowly, “ran me through.”

 

Maker, no wonder she had screamed. For a few moments, he could say nothing – merely because there were so many things fighting to get out of his mouth at once. He wanted to reassure her, tell her it wasn’t true, that none of it would ever, ever happen…

 

…but the fact they both dreamed of each other in terrible ways, and she had appeared as a Desire demon in both…

 

“You don’t think,” she murmured quietly, “that it means something do you? About me? About us?” Emotion gleamed in her eyes as she added, “Are we…a poison for each other?”

 

His jaw set, and he strode quickly and purposefully towards her, kneeling at her bedside and taking her hand in one fluid movement, “No. _No_. It means _nothing_ …you know it, I know it. I think someone in the Fade is having a high time playing around in our heads.” His eyes flashed with a certain fire, “And if I ever get my hands on them…”

Verana smiled weakly, leaning forward and running her other hand through his hair, “You’ll maul them like the lion you are, won’t you?”

 

He chuckled, his cheeks reddening, “You know I don’t- _hmmph!_ ” He squinted suddenly, swaying and flinging one arm forth to clutch at the bed for support. His other hand went to his temples, rubbing them in circular motions with his thumb and forefinger, “ _Damn_ this…”

 

Verana flung the coverlet back and sat up, holding him steady by the shoulders where he still knelt before her. “It’s the withdrawals, isn’t it?”  She recalled all those books and accounts she had thumbed through after he had first told her about his laying off the lyrium. Her expression was one of worry, and she prayed it was just a passing thing…

 

…it wasn’t.

 

“Oh, Maker…not now…” his breath came out wearied, as if something had sapped any and all energy out of him in a single instant. His complexion paled, and he leaned with both hands on the mattress, on either side of her, his head bowed. Verana’s concern rapidly growing, she took his face in her hands and scooted forward a bit to rest his forehead on her knees. Stroking steadily through his hair with her fingers, she spoke quietly, hoping to offer comfort, “It’s all right, Cullen. Stay there as long as you need.”

 

She glanced to the side and noticed his vice grip on the mattress edge was trembling with fatigue. After a few moments, his voice was a hoarse whisper, “It’s…not going away…”

 

Thinking quickly, she slid down in front of him, slipping her arms under his and using her legs to lift him up, hoping he wouldn’t struggle in his stubbornness. To her surprise, he didn’t resist in the least, allowing her to half-drag him onto the bed. She grunted and groaned with the effort, puffing loudly as she teased, “Maker’s breath, Cullen, you weigh a ton…”

 

Her tease managed to elicit the tiniest of laughs from him, “You…don’t have-”

 

“Of course I do,” she insisted, moving to pull off his boots, “You came up here to take care of me…and now I need to take care of you.”

 

“What’re you…?”

 

“Taking these filthy things off so you don’t get mud and horse manure in my bed, you dolt.”

 

Once they were off, she set them near the divan, where his sword and scabbard still lay. Then, quickly returning to the bed, she manually threaded his arms through his coat and pulled it from him, unclasping his belt and removing his vest as well. Throwing all three on the back of the divan, she then began working on the buckles of his cuirass.

 

“You’re…a little…too good at this…” Cullen half laughed, half breathed with exhaustion.

 

“I notice you’re not fighting me too hard about it,” she grinned slyly at him as she leaned over him, unbuckling the straps under his arms.

 

“You…have me at a bit…of a disadvantage…”

 

She took his breastplate in hand and hovered over his face, nose inches away from his, “And if you _weren’t_ wracked with withdrawal symptoms, you would be protesting like mad, would you?”

 

“Try it again…when I’m not…and we’ll see…”

 

Chuckling, Verana placed the breastplate on the cushions of the divan, and then carefully reached under him to pull the backplate away. “Raise up a little,” she murmured, quickly removing the armor the moment a space was created. He grunted as he fell back down, unable to do much of anything else. When she returned again, she unbuckled the spaulders from his shoulders and unclasped his vambraces, pulling the leather gauntlets from his hands and sharply inhaling as her skin brushed his, “Maker’s breath, Cullen, your hands are like ice! There,” she discarded the last bits of garb that might cause him discomfort on the divan and began nudging him farther onto the bed, pulling the pillow under his head and straightening his legs before tossing the coverlet over him, “Now…better?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Good,” she then went around to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside him, sitting up cross-legged against the headboard. She reached and took both of his hands in hers and shivered, “Damn…let’s see if we can’t help this.”

 

Closing her eyes in concentration, she called forth a bit of magic – not enough to cause outright flame, but enough to stir her blood and warm her fingers. Then, she rubbed his hands, firmly but not vigorously, letting the warmth from her own seep into his chilled flesh. In response, he let out a slow breath of relief and grasped at her hands eagerly with what strength he had left. Smiling, she kept the magic stirring in her skin, bringing his knuckles to her lips to kiss them.

 

“Verana,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, “You’re too good to me. So many…might say I deserve this burden…”

 

She shook her head, “No, Cullen…you don’t. You’re a good man. You’ve been through terrible things…seen terrible things…this suffering on top of all that is needless.” She stroked his hair away from his forehead, “And I will help you through it however I can,” she winked and grinned at him, “even if it means being your official hand warmer.”

 

She saw him swallow heavily, his eyes reflecting appreciative warmth even as they slowly slid closed from sheer exhaustion. Bending, Verana kissed him gently between his brows and murmured, “Rest, love. I will be here.”

 

Then, stretching her legs out in front of her, she crossed them and leaned back against the headboard, keeping one hand on Cullen’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before his breathing became deep and steady, indicating he had finally slipped into a sound and peaceful sleep.

 

For hours, she sat there, unmoving so as not to disturb him. Just the rhythm of his breath was comforting to hear, an indicator that his dreams were untainted by dark visions. She was determined to stay awake for his sake, just in case he needed her – in case his withdrawal symptoms returned in the night, or if his dreams happened to take a turn for the worst again. As she spent this vigil in silence, she watched him and prayed all would be well…

 

“It’s silent, now.”

 

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Cole suddenly appeared in her room, sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. The spirit cocked his head at her, his shining, moonlit pale eyes peering at her from under the brim of his overlarge hat. She met them with curiosity in her gaze, wondering why he had decided to appear now and what exactly he meant.

 

“What’s silent, Cole?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

 

“The hunger that calls him,” he replied in his usual ethereal tone, “the soft sigh of the song…the tugging, pulling, yearning…can’t answer it, _won’t_ answer it…mustn’t disappoint her…”

 

“The lyrium withdrawals,” Verana clarified, returning her gaze to Cullen’s serene face.

 

“Skin hot, burning, stinging…throat dry like the desert…thirsty, so thirsty…quenched only by the feel of her eyes,” Cole continued, monotonous voice speaking the thoughts as he sensed them, trying to describe them for her understanding. “So close, the sweetness of freedom. It dangles like an offered prize, yet seems like an eternity away. He strains against the chains that bind him, and they begin to break even as they tighten, twisting…strength granted through the Herald’s touch, courage drives him to push harder…the roar of the lion’s fury shakes the foundations of his cage.”

 

Verana was speechless as Cole put Cullen’s thoughts and feelings to words; there was power in them, but she was not sure which was stronger, the original emotions that Cole drew upon or the spirit’s actual voicing of them. What Cole spoke of was a battle that Verana could only hope she was helping Cullen win. That he seemed to draw on her for strength in this fight made heat rise in her cheeks. She slipped her hand underneath Cullen’s, where it rested atop his chest, and she wondered if he could feel it in his dreams…

 

“Yes,” Cole nodded encouragingly, voice urging, “He knows and feels and is happy. It drives away the dark.”

 

Verana felt her heart pang, “Oh, Cole…” Glancing back to the nightstand, however, she saw that he was already gone…vanished into thin air, likely heeding the subconscious call of someone else in Skyhold who needed him. To the space where the spirit had just been, she whispered a small, “Thank you.” She did not know if he heard it, but she meant it.

 

“Mmm..hmmm…Verana?” Cullen’s eyes fluttered open, and his brow furrowed, even as his gaze remained half-lidded with sleep, “You’re still…awake?”

 

“I…yes,” she replied, trying to resist the urge to yawn as she suddenly became aware of the fatigue that was settling around her own shoulders, shivering down her spine and compelling her to rest.

 

“Please,” he tugged gently at her elbow, “You _must_ sleep…”

 

She sighed, “But what if-”

 

“Please…do it for me.”

 

His drowsy pleading, no matter how she tried to ignore it, was ultimately irresistible, and she grinned almost uncontrollably as she acquiesced, “Oh, all right, you.”

 

A small smile of satisfaction tugged at his lips as she surrendered to his demands and slipped under the covers, snuggling into his side. One arm curled across his chest and hugged him close as she rested her head on his shoulder and tucked her nose into his neck. He shivered at the touch and remarked, “ _Cold_ ,” before turning towards her and kissing the top of her head, “Rest well, my lady.”

 

Sleep beckoned her with its shadowy hands, and Verana at last yielded to it, easily drifting off into a deep slumber as she curled next to Cullen’s warm form, his arm holding her to his side as if he were trying to keep her from slipping away. Then, for the first time in many, many days, they both were granted a peaceful night’s rest, sleeping well into the morning hours…

 

…much to the wonderment of the residents of Skyhold and the pleasure of a certain dwarf and Tevinter mage.


End file.
